Bitter

A belated welcome to all those from ICLW! Just a brief background: my husband Grey and I have been TTC for 2.5 yrs. We were diagnosed with 'unexplained infertility' in January 2011 and began treatment in June 2011. After 3 medicated IUIs, with all of them being negative and me learning first hand how much negative betas suck, we decided to pursue IVF in December 2011. The cycle was outstanding by medical standards, with my REs bringing in medical students and residents to observe our textbook stimulation. We ended up with 8 embryos total, 2 of which were transferred. I got my first BFP ever on December 28, 2011. On January 1, 2012, we learned something was wrong and I was diagnosed with a blighted ovum with a D&C to follow. We did a FET on March 12, 2012 and were hopeful when the first beta came back high, doubling every 36 hrs. 4 days after being reassured that 'things looked great' I started spotting, which turned into full bleeding with clots. I was diagnosed with a completed miscarriage on April 1, 2012. Disheartened, we decided to try one final FET on June 12, 2012, with our two low-grade embryos that weren't suppose to survive the thaw. On June 19, I started experiencing symptoms and had hope that maybe the third-time was the charm. On June 22, 2012, we learned the cycle had failed and the next day decided to end our journey towards a biological child. We are currently in transition as we prepare for a move to Boston, MA in 2013. In the meantime, we are healing and preparing ourselves for the adoption process.

A couple of nights ago, in order to escape the usual, Grey and I decided to watch Les Miserables. I've never seen the movie, the musical or read the book (I know, I know . . . bear with me), but I've heard enough analysis from Grey over the past 8 yrs of our marriage to understand the plot and why it's a seminal work. Considering everything we had recently been through with neighbors, it felt like it was the perfect time. As I watched the story unfold, I found it easy to relate to Valjean and his plight. I admired his conviction to live his life to his moral standards despite living in constant fear of being discovered, but as I neared the end of the film, I began to relate more and more to Javert. Here was a misguided individual who's one great fault was seeing things in black or white. And yet, given his background, it's hard not to blame him for his views despite wanting to hate him so much. Because to escape is beginnings he had to view the world as being black or white. It was necessary to survive.

Last week Mel wrote a post about tolerance that's been haunting me. If you haven't read it, I highly recommend doing so and then doing so again after it's had a chance to sit. The comments section is worthwhile too. Anyway, what's been haunting me is my realization that I view tolerance in a different light from what I did a few years ago. The younger Cristy would have naively stood on her soapbox and proclaimed how necessary it was to practice tolerance and to treat everyone fairly. The younger Cristy would have preached at the top of her lungs about how all humans come into this world equally.

The younger Cristy didn't know what evils exist in the world.

Yes, we need to teach tolerance. We need to learn how to coexist with one another, even those who make our skin crawl and we wish would go play in traffic. But the events from the last couple of weeks have made it resoundingly clear why stereotypes exist. Why certain things are taboo. And all too often, as much as people scream about equality and tolerance, it's always interesting to observe a 'not in my backyard' response when a particularly difficult group moves in.

Grey and I live in a neighborhood that is stuck in transitioning. We moved into our building during the boom years before the financial crash in 2008. At the time, we watched like-minded young couples moving into homes next to third-generation homeowners who were barely able to make ends meet. Our neighborhood was up-and-coming with the promise of parks, sidewalks and affordable living. Following the crash, those that were able to cut their losses and run did. What originally promised to be our new beginning became a nightmare. We soon learned first hand what mental illness looks like and it wasn't long before we learned about the drug houses and the sex offenders that lived nearby.

Still, Grey and I were hopeful. The neighbors that stay were energetic and interested in building community. It wasn't long before a neighborhood watch program moved into our area, compelling everyone to work with the city to eliminate crime and make our community safer. I cheered the first time I saw the neon vest of the neighborhood clean-up crew and the packs of stroller moms who patrolled the streets to make it known that they were watching. We had hope.

Then I learned about what we lived with. I learned about the convict in our midst.

For years I've done my best to be tolerant and accepting. I believe that every person should be judged on their merits and how they live there lives. Still, it's hard to ignore patterns. It's hard to sit by and watch those that need to stay away from certain avenues willfully make decisions to pursue them anyway. And when you get burned and wonder about whether your front door can withstand a blow, it's hard to find one's tolerance fading.

The truth is, I'm bitter about our lot. I'm bitter that treatment failed. Bitter that I can't give my husband the children he deserves. I'm bitter that I came from a dysfunctional family and that they made me the low man on the pecking order. And I'm bitter that I live close to someone who makes my home unsafe. That on top of losing everything else, I have to lose this too.

Therapy is helping on this end. It's nice to have someone who's seen plenty of this type of dysfunction be able to verify that what my gut is telling me is correct. That distancing oneself and silence are the best courses of action. Still, it angers me that we have to learn these lessons too. That one live-changing event wasn't enough.